


Little people

by Black14embers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Courfeyrac does not do kids clothes, De-aged Enjolras, Enjolras just doesn't child at all, I'm trying here, Please read?, Twenty years out the window, don't hold me to any promises, idk if it works, it's edited kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black14embers/pseuds/Black14embers
Summary: In the span of twenty four hours, Enjolras had confirmed plenty of things.A) He'd shrunk, 6'5" down to about 110cmB) His hair was now wispy and blonder than ever.C) His shirt was not appealing to him, hanging off of him like a dress.D) Twenty years had gone out the window, because here he was at the ripe old age of four.Just don't ever trust tea from people with books on magic, or with weird sideburns.





	

Combeferre woke up every morning, at exactly 8:35am; as he always did. He fumbled around for his black frames, smoothed down his bed head and stumbled out of his room. He could faintly hear Courfeyrac’s snoring, but no noise came from Enjolras’. Combeferre shook his head, the man was probably at the office, where he was… all the time… 9am in the morning till 10pm at night.

  
Combeferre trudged down into the kitchen and blinked around blearily, something was off but he couldn't place his finger on it. He scrunched his eyebrows up in confusion and a shiver ran down his back. Combeferre mumbled unintelligibly under his breath and started the kettle, tea for himself; coffee for his caffeine junky roommates. Satisfied that nothing in the kitchen would explode, quite yet. Combeferre stumbled back down the hall; creating as much noise as he could to wake his friends.

  
He slammed his hand on Courfeyrac’s door. “Get up you lazy slob!”

  
“Nghh shhh!” Courfeyrac gurgled out from behind the door.

  
Combeferre let out a sigh, but was reassured in the fact that coffee would draw the man out. He turned towards Enjolras’ door and knocked on the door unsure.

  
“Enjolras, you there?” Combeferre called softly, ignoring the grumble from Courfeyrac’s room.

  
“Ahh yes!” A high pitched screech echoed.

  
“Enjolras?” Combeferre question confused.

  
“Yes, that is I. I am him,” a slightly lower voice responded hurriedly.

  
“May I come in?” Combeferre asked moving to unlock the door.

  
“No!” Enjolras shrieked, “I mean that I should get dressed, and brush my hair. Yes my hair, very important.”

  
“Alright?” Combeferre speculated.

  
He turned to the kitchen and busied himself with cereal and tea. If his friend was going to act weird, let him be weird.

  
***

  
“This is insane,” Enjolras croaked as his friend’s footsteps retreated away.

  
Where there once was a tall, twenty four year old man; now stood a little person. In the span of twenty four hours, twenty years had vanished. Enjolras stood in front of the mirror, swamped in a too big black t-shirt; pale blue eyes watered and chubby, childish cheeks wobbled. Pudgy fingers pulled at wispy white blonde curls and tiny toes curled into the red carpet.

  
Impossible. Tears threatened to spill; cries threatened to echo. Thoughts rampaged through his mind, at speeds unspoken. One thought was singular. What would he do? This wouldn't be explained away, in usual Enjolras fashion.

  
“Enjolras you're missing out on muesli,” Courfeyrac called rapping on his door lightly, “are you coming down?”

  
“Yeah I will soon,” he replied in a wobbly voice he struggled to keep deep.

  
“As you wish,” Courfeyrac grumbled.

  
Enjolras looked at the door forlornly, listening to Courfeyrac’s firm footsteps. He desperately wanted to run out, to let his friend’s deal with this, to wake up and let it be a dream. Fat chance. He had bruises on his left arm, left from repetitive pinching and occasional punching. Enjolras gave himself a few minutes before plucking up the courage to reach for the doorknob, and face his friends. He toddled to the door and leant up on tiny toes, pushing the door open with a soft creak.

  
***

  
“He seems more off from usual,” Courfeyrac commented trudging into the kitchen.

  
Dark Bags sat under, coffee brown eyes; due to a late night out rather than sleep deprivation. A ratty ‘Linkin Park’ shirt hung off broad shoulders, and orange polkadot, flannel pyjama pants hung down around his hips.

  
Combeferre nodded mutely, “It’s Enj, what do yo-. Why is their a child in our apartment?”

  
And surely, standing not four meters in front of them stood a tiny, child dressed in a gigantic dress of a shirt.. White blonde hair sat in wispy curls; framing a tiny, cherub face. Pale blue eyes blinked at the owlishly, obviously shy. The child couldn't be any older than four and apparently lost.

  
Courfeyrac pivoted around and fell against the table. “Damn did Enjolras go and knock someone up?”

  
“I am Enjolras,” the child mumbled gripping the hems of the shirt sleeves tightly.

  
“Bullshit,” Courfeyrac promptly choked narrowing his eyes at the child.

  
Combeferre stood up, a looming figure at his 6’6” glory, and pushed his black frames back into place. He strode over to the kid and crouched down criticizing the small figure.

  
“Birthday?” He asked.

  
“2nd March,” the child replied.

  
“First car?”

  
“A silver, 2008 Cadillac; a gift from my uncle.”

  
“Best subject in high school.”

  
“Social studies, obviously.”

  
“Left or right wing?”

  
“Is that even a question? Left, right is inhumane.”

  
“France or America.”

  
“France, America reeks of a failed government in this day and age.”

  
“When'd you meet me and Combeferre?” Courfeyrac interjected crouching down beside Combeferre, in front of the boy.

  
“May 7th 2001 at the playground in Westport Primary school.”

  
“It's Enjolras,” Combeferre confirmed facing Courfeyrac wearily.

  
“Seriously?” Courfeyrac whistled, “how does this even happen.”

  
“I don't know…” Enjolras mumbled his voice wobbling dramatically, pulling at Courfeyrac’s heart strings.

  
Courfeyrac could barely resist picking his tiny friend up, but he did; for the sake of his best-friend’s dignity. A pout has jammed its way onto Enjolras’ face and he barely resisted the urge to squeal.

  
“Well first things first,” Combeferre said taking control of the situation, “you need some clothes. So we best call Eponine or Cosette, considering they've had experience around tiny clothes.”

  
“Do you have too?” Enjolras asked nervously biting at his lip, “I don't want them to find out, till this blows over.”

  
“I guess one of us could go?” Courfeyrac offered unsure. “I mean I have tiny cousins, so I can go.”

  
“Alright, that's settled then.” Combeferre said walking back over to his chair, and motioning for a relieved Enjolras to follow him. “What do you want for breakfast; obviously not coffee.”

  
Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at Combeferre’s ease, and slipped out of the kitchen resigned to a morning of shopping.

  
“Mm’ not hungry,” Enjolras mumbled accepting the offered hand of help, onto his seat.

  
“Yet, you will still eat,” Combeferre ordered, “toast good?”

  
“Sure,” he replied sullenly.

  
Enjolras watched with downcast eyes as Combeferre busied himself making toast, and pouring him a glass of milk. Enjolras accepted the milk with a small thanks and sipped at it half heartedly.

  
“We'll figure this out,” Combeferre reassured putting the plate in front of his friend, who struggled to reach the table.

  
“I've already figured it out,” Enjolras grumbled fiddling with the crust of his toast.

  
“Yes?” Combeferre stipulated eyeing his friend with a knowing gaze.

  
“Mr Beaufort, my opposition in the case for Ms. De Veres.” Enjolras said swallowing a small bite of his toast. “He had books.”

  
“Books?”

  
“Books on magic. At this present moment in time, magic seems the only plausible answer.” Enjolras mumbled.

  
“But what gives the man any reason? To take twenty years from someone, that's a little drastic.” Combeferre argued.

  
“I can't win the case!” Enjolras shouted tears dripping down his cheeks. “A four year old can't defend someone in court! Dammit Combeferre! he's going to get away with rape, that pig; because of his voodoo shit.”

  
Now Enjolras was practically bawling, tears dripping into his toast; the food long forgotten. Combeferre found himself picking up the kindergartener and hugging him to his shoulder, shushing him, attempting to quieten his friend but failing miserably.

  
Combeferre wanted to cry for his friend as well.

  
***

  
While Combeferre fought tears, and Enjolras openly bawled his eyes out. Courfeyrac found himself walking down Main Street; into the small city’s only shopping center. He stopped at the first kids clothing store he saw, and proceeded directly to the sales lady.

  
“Good morning Monsieur!” She said cheerily, “how can I help?”

  
“Clothing, anything for a three-four year old boy about 110cm high?” Courfeyrac asked hoping that didn't sound as creepy, as it did in his head.

  
“Right,” she said slowly.

  
She led him to a large section opposite the front desk, directing him to the center rack.

  
“This sounds about what you're looking for; everything here falls under our Autumn sale so you're in luck.” She said giving him a grin, before leaving to his own devices to help a heavily pregnant woman.

  
Courfeyrac blanched at the choices in front of him, he did adult clothes, not kids and especially not four year old’s, who lost twenty years over night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this *^*  
> Should I carry it on?  
> I'm open to suggestions.


End file.
